


Ask Box Things You Said

by jacksgreysays (jacksgreyson)



Series: Tumblr Ask Box Events [6]
Category: Dreaming of Sunshine - Silver Queen, Naruto, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Firefly Fusion, Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Dimension Travel, Future Fic, Gen, Soulmarks, Telepathy, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksgreyson/pseuds/jacksgreysays
Summary: (originally posted on tumblr)





	1. (They Call It) Soulless 'verse, donapoetrypassion

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(They Call It) Soulless](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/378243) by donahermurphy. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8) things you said when you were crying

Kako says that the things he learns at the Academy are more like general suggestions than hard and fast rules. “The point of the Academy is to standardize everything so that shinobi who haven’t worked with each other before can function as a team if needed. Teamwork is Konoha’s forte, after all,” she says, “But even concepts that sound good have their faults.”

Kako says a lot of things like that, things that force Kamaru to reconsider what other people say. Look underneath the underneath. Mostly, it’s just to prompt him into critical thinking, but there are some Academy lessons that she outrightly dismisses, practically spitting on them.

“A shinobi must never show emotion?” Kako sneers, reading over Kamaru’s shoulder at his homework on the kitchen table, “How stupid.”

Kamaru blinks, looks up at his sister, surprised. More for her venomous tone than the opinion itself.

Kako sighs, softens, explains. She tries to find teaching moments in everything. Sometimes, Kamaru wonders what she’s preparing him for. “Of course, professionalism is important while on duty, and stoicism in the face of danger can be a shield of sorts, but to say never is overly restrictive and impossible to do. Also, emotions can be weapons of their own. Well. I don’t need to tell you that, you’ve met Gai-senpai.”

Kamaru shudders. Yes, he has met his sister’s zealously enthusiastic senpai.

“Not to mention things like killing intent or positive intent… And for all that we’re shinobi, we’re still human. Emotions and all.”

Kamaru nods, marks a bold line through rule #25 on his homework, and keeps going. But he doesn’t really consider the entirety of this conversation until later in the evening, after he’s gone to bed then woken back up, thirsty and blearily walking to the kitchen practically still asleep.

Kako is already there–mostly because their apartment is so small that the kitchen is also their dining and living room–standing in front of the framed picture of their parents, the small stone tablet with their names on the shelf beside it.

It’s the closest thing their parents have to a gravestone. After they died, the Nara had offered to bury their father in the clan graveyard with his family. But they hadn’t extended the offer to their mother.

Unsurprisingly, Kako had refused. “They would want to be together,” she had said. Kako hadn’t cried then.

She’s crying now.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she says to the two dimensional faces of their parents.

Kamaru freezes in place, unable to move forward.

“But I’m going to keep doing it. Even if you wouldn’t approve. I have to protect him. I don’t know if you would have let me. Sometimes I think… it’s awful… but I know that a few weeks more and you would have followed procedure.”

Kamaru’s thoughts whirl. What procedure? He’s pretty sure that Kako is talking about him, but what is she referring to? Her next words send him retreating to his room.

“I can’t help but wonder if maybe it was for the better that you’re gone.”


	2. Shikamaru and Shikako, lionheadbookends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6) things you said under the stars and in the grass

Shikamaru listens to the rustle of a page turning, feels the prickle of grass against his skin, breaths in the spring air. He enjoys his day.

Shikamaru is young, only a first year student at the Academy, and does not yet know what terrors await him and his sister. (Shikako knows already, though not every one, but that is something she will keep to herself long after those terrors have passed.)

For now, the twins are but children, calm and content in each other’s presence enjoying a pleasant afternoon.

Another rustle of paper, another page turned, a soft excited gasp from beside him.

Normally, curiosity is something that will just lead to more work and so Shikamaru usually squashes it down, but in this moment, fleeting and bright, he decides there is no harm in following it.

“What are you reading?” Shikamaru asks, sliding one eye open and turning his head. Shikako doesn’t like it when there’s too much attention on her, doesn’t like to feel as if she’s inconveniencing anyone even the slightest. Shikamaru has learned to be subtle.

He is rewarded when Shikako turns toward him, book held in her hands, both of them with their backs on the grass and side to side. She holds the book aloft so they can both see the pages.

“The declassified mission record of Tetsuo Utsugi,” Shikako says, indicating the black and white etching of a vast landscape, a small figure standing in the foreground as contrast.

Shikamaru stays quiet, but internally he thinks he doesn’t like it very much. The figure of Tesuo Utsugi is alone in the picture.

“He was a special jounin from before the times of the Sannin who traveled around the continent having adventures,” his sister enthuses, unaware of Shikamaru’s growing, mystifying unease.

“Is that something you want to do?” he asks, because he honestly doesn’t know. Shikamaru’s future is tied to the clan, to the village–his future is set, Shikako’s isn’t. But the only time she’s ever expressed a preference was to join the Academy instead of Shogakko.

Shikako shrugs, their bony shoulders bumping into each other. She lowers the book so it lays on her belly and joins him in staring at the sunny sky.

For a couple of hours, Shikamaru considers the conversation done. They go home, do chores, have dinner, and go to bed; sky long since gone dark, studded gently with stars.

But only a few minutes later, Shikamaru hears his door open, the soft glow of Shikako’s chakra lighting the room. He shifts to make space for her and after a moment she joins him under the blanket. At first she is silent, but Shikamaru is patient.

“If I do want to go on adventures,” Shikako starts, hesitant, “You’ll be here when I come back, right?”

Shikamaru frowns, “You don’t want me to go with you?”

Shikako shakes her head, cheek pressing into the pillow, “They might be dangerous.”

“Then it’s better to face them together,” he responds. The conversation falls into a lull, the quiet and the dark and the warmth lulling the both of them to sleep.

Nearly a decade later, Shikamaru will remember this conversation and realize that Shikako had never actually agreed.


	3. Heart and Soul, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 54) things you always meant to say but never got the chance

The transition happens too fast. One moment Shikamaru is dying, his heart destroyed, pain beyond imagining sparking along his neurons, blood clogging his throat in his death throes. The next, he wakes up, gasping, impossibly, his sister’s crying face the first thing he sees out of the void.

The next, her eyes go dark, expression flat. Her grief and relief erased, replaced by apathy.

Shikako dies instead of him, and Shikabane takes her place.

—

Shikabane plays the part, dutiful Konoha shinobi, dutiful Nara daughter, dutiful twin sister. It is a lie. Shikamaru knows this, but he still plays along because surely it’s better to have this fake than nothing at all?

But even in her new existence, the creature that was once his sister puts him first.

“You should say goodbye,” says Shikabane, tugging at his hand. His shadow hand, specifically. There’s some sensation in it, enough to tell there is contact, but not much in the way of detail. It can’t differentiate sensations: Shikamaru wouldn’t know if Shikabane’s hand is soft and warm like his sister’s would be, or if it’s as cold and hard as stone. As a demon’s lack of a heart.

“I,” Shikamaru hesitates. The face staring impassively back at him is still his sister’s. “I don’t think I can.”

—

It’s not as if Shikamaru wants to die. He very much enjoys living, thanks, he’s not that lazy.

He doesn’t want to die. He just doesn’t want his sister to hurt herself for him even more than he wants not to die.

But he cannot change the past.

He’s grateful to still be alive, he just wishes it hadn’t had such a high cost.

He’ll tell his sister thank you only when he manages to get her back.


	4. Shikako Nara's Guide To Delinquency and Military Insurrection, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28) things you said but not out loud
> 
> (Team Nobori as seen in Chapter 2 of Shikako Nara's Guide To Delinquency and Military Insurrection)

The girl is from the future. The future of a different dimension, she is quick to clarify, before going into a somewhat rambling and convoluted explanation of paradoxes and time travel.

Kushina, for all that she graduated from the Academy dead last, seems to pick it up immediately nodding along and asking questions about fuinjutsu techniques and something called causal stability conditions and relativistic spacetime. Hizashi doesn’t understand anymore than Mikoto, thankfully, but he appears to be content to just accept it as fact.

“She isn’t ROOT,” he dismisses with an affable shrug–a statement they had already confirmed by seeing the pile of corpses the girl had left behind, “And [she looks… familiar enough](https://jacksgreysays.tumblr.com/post/149827608134/stars-also-dream-5-2016-09-01) that I’m certain she is also telling the truth.”

Mikoto frowns, “Just because she’s telling the truth doesn’t mean we can automatically trust her. ROOT soldiers is one thing, killing Danzo is another.”

Hizashi raises an eyebrow at her, “We don’t exactly have the luxury to turn away allies, even if she might not be as skilled as she claims.”

Mikoto bites back a surly response, surely no one could be as skilled as the girl claims, settling instead for a suspicious stare. Precaution as much as indulging her paranoia–the stare from an Uchiha is equivalent to an unsheathed blade from anyone else.

But she ends up not needing it, at least for the following days they travel with the girl, headed toward Land of Rain. The girl–Shikabane, she introduces herself with a resigned sigh–tells them what she knows of the organization called Akatsuki the current ruling force of the Land of Rain and how they, too, had a grudge against Danzo. How they, at least in the dimension she came from, welcomed missing nin–especially those formerly from Konoha. How they were led by an Uzumaki.

But she cautions them about their awful deeds. Their worrying ambition. “They went after the jinchuuriki,” she says, mindfully not looking at any of them. Still, Mikoto and her teammates exchange glances, “But they can’t go out of order, so you should be safe for a while… and hopefully the common goal of killing Danzo will be enough to divert their attentions.

“And plus,” Shikabane continues, as if she weren’t giving back and forth warning and reassurances, “Danzo did more to cause war and suffering than any other single person in history so that, at least, is in line with their original dream.”

“Have you worked with them before?” Hizashi asks.

Shikabane hesitates, “Not… this particular iteration, no.”

Mikoto asks, “Have you fought against them?”

“Yes,” Shikabane answers without pause. “My teammate was the jinchuuriki of the Kyuubi,” she says, again, very deliberately not looking in Kushina’s direction. Just as well, a conflicted expression blooming on her face.

In contrast to Mikoto or Hizashi–jaded by the clan systems as they were–Kushina had always wanted family. But the only reason for the Kyuubi to be transferred between vessels would be if the previous jinchuuriki were unable to contain it…

Still, Kushina was never one for shying away from something and so rather than continuing the somewhat worrying description of their new possible allies, Shikabane dutifully answers questions about Kushina’s successor–her son, Naruto–with as sparse details as she can get away with.

But not sparse enough.

“Who is Sasuke?” Mikoto interrupts as Shikabane is in the middle of an anecdote about her genin team.

Shikabane blinks, “He’s… your son.”

Mikoto can’t help the grimace that invokes, the idea that she had capitulated to the clan elders’ demands in some other life. Another thought crosses her mind and, with trepidation, she asks, “He’s not–was he the Uchiha clan heir?”

Bemused, Shikabane shakes her head slowly, “… No. Sasuke was never clan heir.”

Good, Mikoto thinks, at least that other version of her hadn’t fallen so far. Much easier to think she might have found someone she actually wanted to be with rather than end up brood mare for Fugaku Uchiha.


	5. Fire Fallow Cultivation, Yoshino and Sasuke, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 58) things you were afraid to say
> 
> (specifically follows [this part of Fire Fallow Cultivation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13860777/chapters/31885032))

None of Yoshino’s family–darling and miraculous and beloved they may be–have wings. Herself included.

Just as well, she’s never been able to articulate what the wings mean but she does know that those with wings tend to have… dynamic existences, to put it mildly. Which is not to say that those without wings are entirely without dynamics of their own–her daughter is proof of that–but there’s something mutable, even risky about the lives of those with wings and part of her is glad that her family do not have them.

After all, just look what happened to Sasuke’s family.

—

It takes her a while to figure out that Sasuke has the ability to see the wings as well. It’s not as if she’s never met a fellow watcher, but they’re rare enough that it’s always a surprise to find another.

It becomes apparent during dinner, when Shikako and her team come back from their first C-rank. The way Sasuke’s eyes follow the movements of Naruto’s bright wings instead of his wild hand gestures, how he reflexively winces when once such hand gesture passes through the already broken looking pair on Kakashi’s back.

But that night, and for many dinners after that, Yoshino doesn’t get the opportunity to speak to him alone and so she remains silent on the matter.

That’s just an excuse.

—

Fugaku’s wings were a sober, dreary piebald, about as boring as wings on a human being could possibly be; they were small, more scarf than cape, but far more expressive than his stoic face. Yoshino remembers how they would flare out, a futile, impossible attempt to protect the vulnerable of the village.

Mikoto’s were nearly the opposite, colorful and iridescent and sharp like a hummingbird but far larger and thankfully not so nearly as fast, or else it would have been a headache to look at her. Yoshino remembers how they drooped for weeks after the Kyuubi attack, mourning many, no doubt, but her best friend especially.

Yoshino remembers Itachi’s wings, massiv for such a small boy, the plumage beautiful and nearly mesmerizing. She doesn’t know what they look like now.

She doesn’t want to know.

—

First, Yoshino hesitates. She needs to be certain, she thinks, can’t just assume and spill the secret.

Then, she prevaricates. If Sasuke doesn’t ask about his family, then there’s no reason for her to bring it up.

In most matters, Yoshino is bold. This is not one of them.


	6. Team White Fang, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19) things you said when we were the happiest we ever were
> 
> (Team White Fang as seen in Chapter 1 of Shikako Nara's Guide To Delinquency and Military Insurrection)

“I’m going to ask Atsumi to marry me,” says an absolute stranger to Sakumo before sitting next to him on the park bench.

He doesn’t even blink, eyes fixated on the sight of Kakashi ever so seriously toddling after Tosa’s wagging tail, the rest of the pack lounging in a loose, protective circle. Sakumo is certain these are the kinds of moments he’ll want to remember forever, he almost wishes he has a Sharingan just so he could have the image literally seared into his brain.

“Hey,” says the strange man, jabbing two fingers into Sakumo’s bicep impatiently, “Are you listening to me?”

Reluctantly, Sakumo glances at the stranger, “Yeah, I heard you, Hozue.”

“Well?” Hozue says, expectant, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Sakumo can feel his mouth twitch at the corners, a small curl of amusement making its way through the fog of exhausted satisfaction of being a single father of an overly intelligent toddler.

“It’s about time,” he responds, before turning back to watch Kakashi. His son has managed to get a pudgy hand on an indulgent Tosa’s tail and seems to be carefully contemplating his next plan of action.

Hozue doesn’t try to demand his attention again–never mind the effort she put into this latest identity–content to also watch the boy she’d happily call a nephew. But she does question, “What do you mean it’s about time?”

This time, the amusement bubbles up too quickly–Sakumo laughs, a huffing airy sound more suited to canine than human mouths, “I’m pretty sure you’ve been married to each other for years.”

The stranger’s face looks absolutely gormless shaped by Hozue’s stunned confusion. “What,” she utters.

“You live together, eat together, you’re each other’s emergency contacts, powers of attorney, and beneficiaries, you have sparring dates all the time, you have regular date night every week, every so often you’ll bring her flowers just because, you have three goldfish together that you call your children…” Sakumo lists, getting progressively sillier but no less factual as he goes on.

“Stop! Stop,” Hozue interrupts, blush bright on the stranger’s cheeks.

After a few moments of silence, Hozue murmurs, “Holy shit. Atsumi and I are fucking married.”

“Congratulations,” Sakumo finally adds, tone somewhat dry but no less sincere.

They let the silence resettle, warm and easy, watching as Kakashi somehow maneuvers himself onto Tosa’s broad back, the massive dog taking ginger, careful steps.

Sakumo knows that the future’s going to be bright.


	7. Flip to the Last Page, donapoetrypassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32) things you said I wouldn't understand
> 
> ([Flip to the Last Page](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406030)\--or, in which twins are telepathic)

“I just need some time,” your sister says, eyes looking everywhere but at you. She’s packing, grabbing things at random, placing then removing then folding then replacing, anything to keep her hands busy.

“I just need to be alo–I just need some space,” she stammers, and you can’t hear anything in your head to refute that mostly because she’s slammed a wall on your connection, metal bars and concrete.

As the two of you grew, so did your control over your connection. No more the constant, unconscious flow of childhood–thoughts more often impressions than words–now you can utilize it strategically: plans and intel, Jounin Commander in the making. Or, rather, you would if your sister weren’t blocking you out.

“I just need to think,” she says, and this third time hits the worst because you know if she were letting her thoughts seep through, you’d hear the added “by myself.”

Futilely, you try to send your arguments through her barrier: why can’t you think here? You’re already cutting me off, obviously you’ve made space for yourself. Why won’t you stay?

If she hears anything, she doesn’t respond beyond the flattening of her mouth into a tight, tense line.

The two of you are supposed to be a team, siblings, friends, partners. She makes it seem as if your twin bond is nothing more than a prison. One with a life sentence at that.

That makes her soften, her furrowed brow transitioning from frustrated to contrite, but no less determined.

“I just… need to know that I’m not making things worse.”


	8. AU of (They Call It) Soulless, donapoetrypassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40) things you said when you met my parents
> 
> AU of (They Call It) Soulless, in which a bunch of shinobi have been in stasis in Konoha General since the Kyuubi attack including Shikaku and Yoshino

Kako says that a single action should, ideally, solve at least three problems simultaneously. “Power is one thing, but if you don’t apply it properly, efficiently, then it may cause more harm than good. And anyway,” she says with a smile, ruffling Kamaru’s hair, “if you only need one solution to multiple problems, then you have all the more time to be lazy.”

Kamaru understands this lesson immediately, but putting it into practice is slightly more difficult. He tries to look to Kako’s actions as an example and it only manages to bring up more questions.

Kako has been teaching him medical jutsu–another thing which Kamaru understands in theory, but struggles in application–whenever their free time overlaps, no matter how tired she is, so surely the problems it must be solving are either multitude or important. Probably both.

He thinks he’s figured out a couple of them: medical jutsu is a valuable skill, regardless of if he wants to be a field shinobi or not, and if he can reduce his medical costs then that will help with their financial situation. But what else?

—

Kamaru wouldn’t say he’s particularly rebellious or mischievous or anything like that. Yeah, sometimes he skips class with Chouji and Kiba and Naruto, but really it’s because lessons can be so boring and Iruka-sensei always gets angry when he naps. And anyway, Kako hardly ever minds; actually, it’s almost as if she approves, fondly asking after his friends and their chosen adventure of the day.

So Kamaru wouldn’t call himself a rule breaker, per se, but he can be–when the occasion calls for it–rather curious.

Kako never outrightly tells him not to go to Konoha General. She never speaks of Konoha General at all, really. Whenever either of them end up needing a fully trained medic, she brings them to the smaller Nohara clinic even if it’s on the other side of the village. As far as she’s concerned, Konoha General might as well not exist.

Kamaru doesn’t feel the need to borrow trouble, and so he stays away from Konoha General up until a genin runner interrupts class and gives a hushed but rushed message to Iruka-sensei… whose eyes dart directly to Kamaru.

Kamaru may want to avoid trouble, but apparently trouble has no problem going after his sister.

—

Kamaru knows that Kako keeps things from him. Not out of malice, of course, but because she doesn’t think he needs to know: she wants to protect him, thinks he’s not yet old enough. He trusts her, knows she only has his best interests at heart, but it can be frustrating.

It’s not a surprise, really, that the one who spills this particular secret isn’t Kako at all, but her weird senbon-obsessed senpai, Genma.

Kamaru thinks he should be angry at her–their parents are alive! Have been alive this whole time! Why didn’t she tell him sooner? Why didn’t she tell him at all–but she’s hurt and unconscious after taking on a third Soulless and she’s taking so long to wake up that any anger he does have dissipates in the face of his more overwhelming worry.

“It’s not a fair exchange,” Kamaru mutters to the door leading to the sealed off portion of the hospital–as close as visitors are allowed to get to those trapped in stasis, as close as Kamaru has been to their parents since the few weeks after he was born, “Knowing you’re here doesn’t mean anything. She needs to wake up,” he rubs at his chest, the fabric of his shirt suddenly rough against the patch of skin where his marks lay invisible, “I don’t care if you’re trapped here forever, as long as she’s okay.”


	9. Team Seven, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22) things you said after it was over

They walk slowly, father and daughter, a leisurely pace through the warehouse district of Konoha. Members of the Nara clan walking slowly is not and unusual sight in the village, except that these particular members happen to be Nara clan head and his internationally acclaimed war hero daughter. Those who do recognize them stare in awe, some even stand at attention, saluting or bowing.

Shikako tries not to flinch each time, tries to hold her head high instead of ducking behind her father like the shy little girl she once was, but it’s difficult. Luckily, it doesn’t happen too often; the warehouse district is mostly empty save for the genin runners from the merchant district tasked with hauling scrolls of stock back and forth.

The streets empty further as they go deeper into the district, smaller warehouses less used or possible even fully abandoned. It’s here that Dad finally comes to a stop, nicking his thumb and swiping the blood over a fuinjutsu array on   one such warehouse door.

The security seal recognizes him–or his blood, at least–and unlocks. Dad pulls the door open with a creak of metal, the sound echoing. Though loud, it almost seems more of a yawn than a roar, a long slumbering beast stretching to awake.

The warehouse is empty of all but dust and rust, in great need of cleaning and modernizing, but there’s something about the space that still stirs something within her.

“Wow,” Shikako breathes, a smile stretching across her face.

Dad, quietly triumphant, asks, “So you’ll take it?”

“It’s perfect.”

—

Naruto comes home from the battlefield not quite a conquering hero, but a beloved figure nonetheless and a practical shoo-in for Nanadaime Hokage.

Of course, it could also be said that he doesn’t come home from the battlefield at all because, as it turns out, Naruto is technically homeless.

He laughs and smiles, hand scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck, but he emphatically refuses every offer of hospitality whether it be guest room, couch, or–alarmingly, three different times–a more innuendo laden offer of hospitality.

It’s not that Naruto is refusing out of pride–Shikako knows better.

“Can you help me with something?” she asks, a casual head tilt to her warehouse. In only a few short weeks, it’s already become the best place to find her at any given time.

“Of course, Shikako-chan!” Naruto agrees without even asking for details, ever so trusting and eager to give a hand to those who need it. She’d never betray his confidence in her, but a worse person would find it easy to do so.

The main space of the warehouse has been converted to a workshop, the main table covered with notes and a prototype of her newest project: a natural chakra circuit.

“You’re the only other sage I could ask about this,” Shikako explains, pointing out the flow of natural chakra and how it’s drawn in, cycled through, then emitted by the circuit. Naruto may not understand her notes, but when he syncs his chakra to the natural energy of the world around them he can feel it clearly. “And it’s just that I’ve got a mission starting tomorrow but I don’t want to leave this project unmonitored.” She pauses, as if considering, “I guess if you’re busy, I could just shut it down and try again when I come back–but then I’d have to restart, and–”

“No way! I can look after your stuff, Shikako-chan, believe it!” Naruto interrupts, grin wide and practically glowing at the prospect.

Shikako smiles back, “Thanks, Naruto,” she says and doesn’t feel at all guilty that she specifically created the circuit so she could bring him here, “It’d be best if you could stay with it overnight, too,” she instructs, guiding him to the back of the warehouse. It was originally meant for only basic amenities, but Shikako has fixed it up to be a fairly comfortable living space. “Sometimes when I have intense projects, I just sleep here instead of going all the way back to the Nara clan compound.”

Naruto’s grin begins to grow strained, a flicker of that same hesitance appearing.

“But I get it’s kind of messy,” she continues even though she knows for a fact that Naruto’s apartment was far messier, “So if you just want to use the loft, I’d understand. I was thinking about maybe starting a small garden up there, but you know me,” her shrug is casual, self-deprecating, and entirely calculated, “I’m not that good with plants.”

An almost devious gleam makes its way into Naruto’s eyes.

A week and a half later, Shikako returns from her mission and is only outwardly surprised to find that the loft has become a veritable forest. “I picked these for you,” Naruto says, showing off the flowerbed of snapdragons in a multitude of colors.

Really, Shikako is more pleased to spot the actual bed and other furniture hiding among the plants, along with the rest of Naruto’s things.

—

In contrast, Shikako doesn’t actually notice when Sasuke moves in.

She would have sworn that the walled office space was still filled with the unused lab equipment that she had found in the beginning–equipment that she didn’t want, but couldn’t bring herself to throw away given the name on the labels. Except during a particularly rambunctious attempt at creating three dimensional shogi with a set of Naruto’s clones and earth pillars, the both of them freeze at the sound of shattering.

Eyes wide, Shikako exchanges a glance with Naruto. Or, at least, the Naruto wearing the white Hokage robes. “Shit,” she mutters, leaping down from her pillar to the walled off space.

Instead of the shattered beakers she expected, she finds a shattered teapot… along with a completely furnished bedroom designed in blues and reds.

“What?” She asks, turning, blinking, checking to see if perhaps there were a genjutsu active. “When did this happen?”

“Like two weeks ago,” says a Naruto in a black chuunin vest, looking at her skeptically.

“Yeah, Sasuke asked if he could use this room,” continues a Naruto wearing a henge of Kakashi-sensei, vest and headband in white.

Shikako strains her memory for that conversation. Mostly what she remembers from two weeks ago was not sleeping for a few days, then finally making headway on her glacial translation of the Gelel shrine photos from Sand, then eating what must have been her own weight in gyouza, and then maybe passing out?

A set of Narutos, all in henges to be younger versions of himself in either black or white, cluster around the shards of the teapot. As if they really were his twelve year old self, one of them loudly whispers to another, “Maybe if we hide the pieces, he won’t realize it’s broken.”

“As if, dobe,” says Sasuke’s voice from behind the crowd of shogi clones.

Almost in unison, the clones begin to blame each other, which Sasuke ignores with the air of long practiced poise. Shikako is still baffled that he lives here, frankly.

Sasuke rolls his eyes and shoos away the genin clones, all of whom make childish faces back. He sweeps up the shards with a broom Shikako has never seen before, discarding them in a rubbish bin Shikako has also never seen before.

“It’s okay, I bought multiple,” Sasuke assures her, pulling out an exact replica teapot from a set of shelves on the wall. “Yoshino-san told me I should be prepared for something like this.”

“You told my mom you were moving in?” Shikako asks him, bewildered.

It’s Sasuke’s turn to look at her skeptically, “She helped me design my room.”


	10. Stars Also Dream, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5) things you didn’t say at all
> 
> (part of [Stars Also Dream 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794919))

Attachment is discouraged–no, worse than that–attachment is blasphemous.

And yet, what could the bond between master and padawan possibly be otherwise?

Still, you keep such questions to yourself. No need to cause complications for Master Bant, and you are reluctant to prove yourself anything less than the perfect student. (Pride, that’s blasphemous, too.)

The bond between you and Master Bant grow even as missions turn from tense assignments to fraught battles, the galaxy going to war. She teaches you negotiating and healing and fighting and how to tell when is the right time for each. She teaches you how to survive, she teaches you to be independent, she teaches you that sometimes the most important things are the ones left unsaid.

You never told Master Bant “thank you” because the relationship between master and padawan inherently revolves around teaching. It would be like thanking gravity for pulling you to the planet, or thanking the stars for burning bright in the void of space.

You also never told Master Bant “I love you.”

You didn’t have the words for it until long after Master Bant’s light had gone out.

—

The couple who find you–you and the wreckage of your emergency shuttle–stare at you with wide, kind, and concerned eyes, not a drop of fear in them.

How foolish. You could hurt them. So easily. Your lightsaber unlit but steady in your grip. You are mourning, ravaged with your grief, and you understand now how Jedi could fall to the Dark side. You are nothing more than your emotions, your loss, and these people mean nothing to you.

But they are kind and fearless–oblivious–they see only a crying child, and not the battle-hardened warrior you truly are.

But perhaps they aren’t entirely wrong, either. When the woman draws closer, labor rough hands gently wiping at your tears, you do not attack. You collapse into her embrace, body wracked with sobs, grip tightly, desperately, to the fabric of her clothes, aching to hold on.

A few days later, you erase this particular moment from their memories to keep them safe from your past–or to keep your past safe from them–but maybe, you think, in the future you will tell them the truth.

A few years later, another war of a smaller but no less horrific scale breaks out.

You are the last Kinokawa.

—

You have learned by now about keeping things to yourself. You know so well the poisonous coursing of regret in your heart. Words bitten back and left to fester because those who would hear them are no longer alive.

You want to tell your family. Or, rather, you don’t not want to tell them before it’s too late.

That deadline approaches, tensions rise, the familiar vanguard of war. Your family sent out to the front lines, in the thick of it, already scarred by the dangers you couldn’t shield them from. You have your youngest child to think of, but what kind of mother would you be if you didn’t do all you could to ensure the world Eerin grew up in were as safe and peaceful as could be?

Send me, send me, you do not ask, do not say.

You do not need to. You send yourself.


	11. Friendship Is A (Mutual) Con, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20) things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear
> 
> (part of the [Friendship Is A (Mutual) Con 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945079/chapters/19668433))

He doesn’t mean to trip.

Hardly anyone means to trip, but he especially didn’t mean to do so now, back stepping as quickly as he could after listening in on his sister’s conversation with her weird friends.

Mum sent him to the shop to bring some things for Shikako and remind her about family dinner on Saturday. He didn’t really think much about the closed sign or the locked door: Shikako’s been teaching him lockpicking, on the off chance he might want to follow her in her business and because it’s a handy skill to have, or so she says, and he knew she was there and thought maybe it was a test because it’s not as if business hours mean anything to family, right? Except she didn’t appear when the bell above the door jingled, and he heard yelling coming from the back room and so he went further into the shop (after locking the door behind him, of course) but when he got close enough to actually hear the words more clearly–to understand them–he realized it wasn’t an argument.

Well, it was an argument only in the sense that there was a lot of shouting and disagreements.

Mostly, it was a plan for a heist.

And at first it didn’t make any sense because… because Shikako’s supposed to build vaults and locks and safes not break into them! But there was her voice, logical and methodical, painting such a clear and feasible picture that eventually the argument–the planning–simmered down into agreement.

And in that silence, Kinokawa realized what he heard. And he tried to back away, so as not to get caught, but Shikako only ever trained him in lock picking not any of her other, apparent, criminal inclinations and so in his hurry, he tripped…

… and knocked over the stand of antique keys Shikako keeps to build custom modern locks for fun.

Naruto is the one who gets to him first–or rather, leaps over him to get between Kinokawa and the exit–but Sasuke is the one that pulls him to his feet. Roughly, at first, until he sees Kinokawa’s face, hands gentling almost immediately.

Kinokawa flinches anyway. Not so much out of fear but out of shock. Has everyone Kinokawa known his entire life secretly been criminals this whole time?

Shikako finally follows, her weird pale and quiet friend in her shadow, and the air suddenly goes taught like a string about to snap.

He wants to blurt out excuses, wants to wipe his memory, wants to undo time and just wait in the front of the shop where there weren’t secrets and criminal plans being flung about for little brothers to hear. He wants to apologize.

Shikako gets to it first.

“Ah, I should fix this,” she says, before kneeling down and beginning to pick up the scattered antique keys on the ground.

Reflexively, he does the same. Slipping out of Sasuke’s loosened grip and picking up keys. Shikako glances up, gives her friends–fellow criminals?–a look, and the three of them leave.

It’s quiet but for the soft clinking of keys in cupped palms, the stand being brought back upright, and the somewhat out of tune low humming Shikako does as she works.

It is weirdly soothing, organizing the keys by their labeled tags back onto the stand, that Kinokawa almost startles when his sister speaks again.

“I’m sorry, Kino,” she says, elbow lightly jostling his shoulder as she puts another key in its place. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”

For a moment, Kinokawa pauses. He knows Shikako would never do anything bad to him, but that thought still flashes across his mind–Nara quick and prone to paranoia.

“I hope we didn’t scare you,” Shikako continues. Kinokawa feels relieved followed immediately by bubbling guilt at feeling such.

“No!” Kinokawa denies, assures, “I wasn’t–I’m not scared.”

Shikako smiles, but it’s a kind of sad, disbelieving smile. “You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Although, I guess there are worse ways.”

Another thought comes to Kinokawa, “Were… were you ever going to tell me?” And another, left unasked: am I the only one who doesn’t know?

Shikako answers both, sighing, “I don’t know. A part of me wanted to tell you–all of you, Shikamaru and Mum and Dad–about what I really do–I do so much good, Kino, I can’t even count how many people we’ve helped–but it’s not like I can just say it during family dinner.”

No, certainly not. Definitely not with their dad being the governor’s chief of staff, or Mum being a police sergeant, or even Shikamaru’s own budding career as a behavioral analyst with the FBI.

Kinokawa can see why Shikako would keep her job–hobby?–a secret.

“I can keep it,” Kinokawa volunteers, because he knows his sister wants to ask but doesn’t think she can. But he’s not a baby anymore, “I can keep it secret,” he repeats, “Until you’re ready to tell them,” he adds.

From the shaky smile on Shikako’s face, it’s her turn to feel relieved, and she pulls him into a hug.


	12. Primadonna Girl (Says No Thank You), anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 33) things you said at the back of the theatre
> 
> set in a very bleak future AU of [Primadonna Girl (Says No Thank You)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945079/chapters/17782141)

“Not bad, Sparky,” Kankurou says once the most devoted fans have left, giggling to themselves and satisfied. Some of them glance his way curiously, but most are too focused on the autographed paraphernalia clutched in their hands.

She blinks at him, overly polite and practiced smile still pasted on her face. Best actress of their generation his ass. “Would you like me to sign something for you, Kazekage-sama?” she asks, gesturing with the marker still in her hand. “There might be some posters left over if you didn’t bring anything with you.”

Kankurou raises a brow at her, “And would that be as Kako Heijo or Shikako Nara?”

Her smile drops, replaced with a displeased wrinkling of her nose. Finally a real emotion from her.

“What do you want?” she asks, finally leaving the roped off section at the theater’s back exit. A flimsy cage for one of the continent’s most powerful shinobi, but somehow the only one that she deigns to be contained within. 

“I like to consider myself a patron of the arts,” he answers with a shrug, before walking into step beside her. There are a few paparazzi lingering at the end of the alleyway, ready to pounce, but one look at Kako Heijo’s current conversation partner makes them turn their cameras away.

Suna still has a harsh reputation, after all, no matter what attempts were made to ameliorate that. And it doesn’t help that Kankurou’s own ascension to the hat was particularly bloody. None of it by his hand or command, of course, but sometimes the truth can be the less believable explanation.

Sparky scoffs at his response, but doesn’t do anything to escape from his presence.

The silence as they go from theater to hotel isn’t comfortable by any means, but neither is it fraught or tense. The issues between them have long ago been settled, if unfortunately, and now there is nothing but the ruins of their shared ties.

If asked twenty years ago, he would not have guessed correctly on which of the two of them would be an internationally acclaimed performer and which would be a kage, but here they are.

Both of them trapped in roles neither of them wanted.

At the hotel, Sparky’s manager flutters in her direction, immediately jabbering about bodyguards and scheduling and exposure while carefully trying not to get too close to Kankurou. For that, he grins and enjoys the way the civilian flinches back.

“Don’t be a bully,” Sparky berates, distinctly ignoring all of her manager’s own admonishments.

“Leaf nin, always so soft hearted,” Kankurou responds, never mind that they both know it to be anything but true.

After all, shinobi and actors don’t deal in the truth.


	13. Never Lookin' To Come Back, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34) things you said in your sleep
> 
> (part of the [Never Lookin’ To Come Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945079/chapters/25575105) 'verse)

Kiba doesn’t dream. Not in the literal sense, at least.

He’s heard other people talk about their dreams–their unconscious adventures or whatever–but he’s never been able to do the same. Usually he’s just out like a light. Maybe he wakes up in a mood, emotions filtering through as he sleeps, but nothing concrete or detailed enough to count as a dream.

He doesn’t think it’s much of a loss, really. What’s the point in having adventures in your sleep when you can have them in reality?

And, well, no dreams no nightmares.

Given what he’s seen, ain’t he lucky?

Too bad the same can’t be said for the captain.

—

They’re on a job–an easy delivery to some barely named pebble of a moon turned into a whole production. A miserly bastard exploiting a bunch of honest people who just needed a little help from the Shuumatsu’s ragtag team of heroes in order to find courage to stand up for themselves… the usual, really.

If he were one for business cards, Kiba would probably change his to say Big Damn Hero.

Right now it’s the evening before the final showdown. They’re taking turns on watch, because this isn’t their first rodeo that’s for sure–he wouldn’t be all that surprised if the bastard sent some muscle their way in the middle of the night–but they’re not all that worried. Kiba and Akamaru have this.

The captain murmurs in her sleep and Kiba, ears always tuned in to what she says, listens.

“… retreat… prince…”

Just those two words are enough to place when Shikako is in her mind, but the last is what makes Kiba’s blood chill.

“… Sai…”

—

Kiba doesn’t dream in the literal sense. Not so much in the figurative sense, either. Not anymore. He’s content with living on the bucket of bolts that is the Shuumatsu, making sure the captain has back up for her crazy schemes.

Because having a dream means getting your hopes up. Means getting invested. Means making your soft spots out in the open.

Having a dream means that you can be betrayed.

And failing your dream means reality becomes a nightmare.


	14. Jiraiya and Naruto, lionheadbookends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47) things you said in a hotel room
> 
> lionheadbookends prompted this with "any AU" and so I chose the cyberpunk [Remember to Sleep](https://jacksgreysays.tumblr.com/tagged/remember-to-sleep) 'verse which doesn't have a main story yet, but which includes this [Kakashi piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547186/chapters/26165103) and a few ficlets in the [a softer ask box event](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406585)

Jiraiya’s at the hotel bar–and, yeah, maybe it’s a little early in the day for a drink or three, but who’s checking?–when he sees it: the briefest glimpse of all too familiar blonde hair.

He shakes his head, mutters to himself, “Don’t get your hopes up,” and goes back to his drink. It’s impossible, what he’s thinking, and besides, there’s a pair of beautiful young ladies who look like they might appreciate some excellent company.

He signals for the bartender to send over some complimentary drinks (mimosas, apparently, not like the princess who would appreciate harder liquor) and gets ready to put on some moves.

Fifteen minutes and a double dousing of socially acceptable daytime drinks in his face later, he spots it again: bright and messy, even through the champagne and orange juice in his eyes. This is a sign, no doubt, destiny telling him to follow–why else would those lovely ladies reject his advances?

The bartender, unimpressed but dutiful, passes Jiraiya a towel to wipe his face. Taking the opportunity, he asks, “What’s going on in the ballroom?”

The bartender shrugs, “Some kind of science convention. Not too sure. I’m hoping it’s medical–doctors really know how to drink.”

Jiraiya rolls his eyes, “You’re telling me.” But that’s a sob story for a different bartender, maybe, and he’s got an entirely different blonde to chase down.

According to the signs, it is indeed ‘some kind of science convention’. More specifically, one for cybernetic augmentations and enhancements. It is, unfortunately, hauntingly familiar stomping grounds for him.

Most of the names listed for panels are old or uninteresting–one of the main reasons he’s stopped coming to these things, even if they do offer all expenses paid. How this is supposed to be about innovations when it’s the same people rehashing the same tech is beyond him–except one of the smaller rooms, practically in fine print at the bottom of the itinerary, has a name he’s never seen before.

Not new to him entirely (Nara is common enough, almost a household name given the reach of their pharmaceuticals and the fact that practically everyone is medicated these days) but definitely new to this particular arena. Cautious branching out, maybe? That would explain why they have a small room instead of space in the main ballroom.

Except when Jiraiya gets to the room listed, it’s packed. Overflowing, practically. If he weren’t who he was, and the staff at the door hadn’t recognized him, he might not have gotten in–as is, it’s a tight squeeze. Which he wouldn’t mind if it were a crowd of buxom beauties, but, alas, he is surrounded by sweaty nerds. But why is such a popular panel in such a tiny room?

Or, maybe, he should be wondering: why is this Nara panel so popular?

Except once he gets to the front–“it’s such an honor that you’re here, sir, and also a surprise. We weren’t told you’d be here, but of course you’re more than welcome. Such an honor, please, there’s VIP seating,”–even that question flees from his mind.

Because sitting just next to that (surprisingly young and pretty, nothing like that stony-faced punk Shikaku) newcomer Nara is Minato…

… but not.

That’s definitely Minato’s god-awful hair, and damned too blue eyes, but it’s in a face more like Kushina’s. That’s definitely her smile on that brat’s face, aimed with laser accuracy at the Nara girl beside him.

“What the hell is going on?”


	15. Stars Also Dream, Santa, donapoetrypassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 56) things you said in the spur of the moment
> 
> (part of [Stars Also Dream 'verse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7794919))

“One day, I’m gonna fly,” he says, full of conviction, eyes trained upwards at a flock of birds soaring through the sky. He’s not there yet, but he will be.

Kyougi throws a piece of rubble at him, Santa yelps in over exaggerated pain. “Your feet are on the ground, which is where your eyes should be too. The faster we get this done, the better.”

Chinatsu, far more dutiful, gives a soft chuckle at her teammates’ antics nonetheless. The disapproving tongue click that their sensei gives is less fond.

Properly scolded, Santa turns his gaze downward, resuming his share of their D-rank. “One day, I’m gonna rescue a princess,” Santa mutters, as he sorts through the debris. If he can keep him and his team distracted maybe they won’t have to think about what they’re doing. He knows it’s not something he should be complaining about–rebuilding in the weeks after the Kyuubi Attack is important, sure, that doesn’t mean he can’t wish for a more exciting mission.

Or at least one that isn’t so depressing.

“As if,” Kyougi says, rolling her eyes, but still playing along, “We’re going to be stuck with smugglers or farmers all through our career.”

“Hey! Don’t besmirch farmers! Your clan head’s wife is a farmer!” he points out.

“No, Yoshino-sama is a shinobi. Her parents were farmers. As are a good percentage of all of our clans,” Kyougi argues, logically and methodically.

“Yeah! Exactly!” Santa agrees, before pausing, thinking, then, “Wait, what?”

“There aren’t a lot of princesses to be rescued,” Kyougi continues, “And I doubt we’ll ever be chosen to go on a mission to do the rescuing.”

“Not with that attitude,” Santa snipes back.

Tokumei-sensei clicks his tongue again, before pointing at a fallen wall, aiming them wordlessly as if they were simple beasts of burden. Still, he and Kyougi fall silent once more as they and Chinatsu head in that direction.

Chinatsu lifts up the wall while he and Kyougi reach underneath. Grimly, they pull the body out, another black ringed scroll to be sorted through later and returned to any next of kin.

They’re quiet for a while after. Miserable and quiet, which is probably what their sensei prefers.

Chinatsu is the one to break the silence, “I’d like to fly someday, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyougi Nara is an SQ OC, Chinatsu Akimichi is dona's, and their awful Hyuuga sensei is Pepperdoken's. For more details, check out [the spreadsheet of DoS timeline and OCs.](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1y29qAM4AdBnRXhbX1Vt9GXnME_brfkvhsuVfgbafc3A/edit#gid=0)


	16. Sasuke / Shikako, ANBU mission, anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 56) things you said in the spur of the moment

“Hawk-taicho,” Komachi murmurs before handing him their makeshift field teacup, medicinal powder mixed into steaming water.

There is no fire in their camp–for obvious reasons–she must have used a chakra trick. Maybe she has fire type like him.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” Sasuke says instead of asking because even if his identity has been compromised, doesn’t mean that hers should be just to indulge his curiosity. He takes the cup and tries not to grimace at the taste.

On his other side, Towa is the one who shrugs,  answers, “Mask or no doesn’t change who you are. We’re ANBU’s Red Team, you’re our captain.”

Easy for him to say. He’s not the one whose cover has been blown, painted ceramic shards all that remains of his ticket to freedom.

But there’s no reason for Sasuke to be petty, spite doesn’t suit a captain, de-masked or not, and it’s not like he’s actually irritated at Towa or Komachi.

It’s not like he irritated at anyone else in particular, either.

The stone pendant against his chest pulses with warmth. He hasn’t fully deciphered what it means, but he thinks maybe it’s a mix of teasing and chastisement.

He blinks, tries not to flinch at the crusting blood against his eyelids, and realizes his Sharingan is activated. He deactivates it, chakra drain immediately halting.

The stone washes cool–soothing, encouraging–and Towa and Komachi relax an infinitesimal amount.

“Thank you,” Sasuke says instead, belatedly, because without them he would’ve been captured immediately, no matter that his should-have-been lethal wounds were healing at an impossible rate.

Captured, Shikako’s sacrifice made obsolete. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

He can’t see Komachi’s face–the two of them have kept their masks on at Sasuke’s own orders though they had offered–but he can practically hear the eye roll in her voice. “We’re Red Team,” she says, parroting Towa’s words as if there were some deeper meaning than the obvious, simple fact.

Perhaps there is.

The stone’s temperature fluctuates once more, and Sasuke grunts as he feels rib fracture knit itself whole at an accelerated rate. Is this what it feels like for Naruto? How the hell does he stay standing?

The silence returns, weighted but not tense. They are waiting for him: for him to heal, for him to decide. They can’t move while he’s still recovering–though at this rate, it should only be at most an hour more–but it’s not as if he knows what to do anyway. The stone has no input for him to follow.

“We can’t achieve the mission objective,” he says out loud, more to himself than the squad, but any guidance is better than none.

“I don’t think we were supposed to, taicho,” Towa says after a pause, finally voicing what all of them were thinking.

“They were wearing Cloud gear,” Komachi adds, “But they weren’t fighting like Cloud nin.”

“They were fighting like…” Towa stops, unable to verbalize this particular bit of suspicion.

Like Konoha shinobi, he doesn’t want to say. Like Konoha ANBU, he definitely doesn’t say.

“They were targeting me,” Sasuke says instead, when the weight of that shared thought grows too heavy. “To capture, not to kill. That last blow was a miscalculation.”

Shikako’s existence forfeited because of a miscalculation. He feels his muscles clench with futile rage before they are forcibly made to relax. Relax, he thinks the stone is trying to communicate with it’s fluctuating waves of chakra, relax so I can heal you properly. Don’t be like sensei, he can practically hear Shikako say.

Or maybe he’s trying too hard to personify it.

“We’re not going back to Konoha, are we, taicho?” Komachi asks, somehow parsing a plan of from his expression when even Sasuke can’t figure out what it is he’s feeling.

But now that it’s been said out loud, he knows she’s right. They can’t go back to Konoha. Not yet. And not because Shikamaru will literally, completely, and justifiably kill him if they do.

“No,” Sasuke shakes his head, “We have to go help Naruto.”

Komachi and Towa exchange glances. If they have any objections, they don’t say, but even if they did, it wouldn’t matter: he would still go.

After all, it’s what Shikako told him to do.


End file.
